#swamp green court

[toxiccrybabyart]

Rocco diamonds

I anted to better establish to myself the differences between Valentine and Swamp

[starker-sorbet]

Peter was intrigued by the witch who lived in his swamp. He was obviously powerful and well trained if the spells Peter had seen cast were any indication. As well as being respectful to the swamp itself, never harvesting more than he needed for his potions and avoiding aggravating the creatures who also inhabited the area. Not to mention he's incredibly good looking. All of this made the man a promising prospect for a mate. Now how to tell the man of his intentions to court him? Humans were notoriously tricky to deal with so that left Peter mulling over his options. Maybe the head of that annoying blonde knight that kept harassing him would best show Peter's intentions.

[briggsyxtorbek]

Episode 33

“But you lied to his person,” Twig said

“We didn’t lie,” Godeon said “we didn’t lie. We just didn’t tell her and maybe said some stuff that wasn’t true. We didn’t specifically lie to her”

“Exactly,” Kremmy said, slapping a hand on Gideon's shoulder “what Gid said” 

“Wait, wait,” Twig said, “you said I’m sure he’s out there somewhere waiting for you. That’s a lie isn’t it?” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s the case” Gideon chuckled “he’s still there”

“From a certain point of view,” Gricko chimed in

“He ain’t goin’ anywhere! She takes a right instead of a left out in the swamp out there she’s gonna find him” 

“Hold on! So if Torbek, over the course of this magical adventure, drops dead and you all just push torbeks body behind some trees are you gonna not tell Briggsy?" 

"Does Clementine speak-" It took Kremy a minute to realize that the bugbear said a different name "wait, what'd you just say?"

"Are you gonna tell Briggsy if Torbek drops dead?" Torbek asked, getting a bit huffy

"Who the fuck in Briggsy?" Kremy asked 

"Torbek's boyfriend" 

"Boyfriend?" Gideon asked, "what happened to Clementine?" 

"Torbek hasn't seen Clementine in five years" 

"When's the last time you saw this Briggsy guy then?" Gideon asked 

"Torbek saw Briggsy last Yuletide"

"Wouldn't you have still been locked up during Yuletide?" Gricko asked 

"Yeah, but it's some kind of magic that transports Torbek to the Winter Court with his friends" 

Everyone looked at each other, concerned about the implications that could come with this statement. Frost knew it would make sense for Torbek to disassociate while he was being experimented on, but believing he had a boyfriend couldn't be good for his already fragile mental state.

"W-well," Kremy said, looking at Gideon for some kind of back up "I might consider it"

"We'd have to find 'im first," Gricko said

"He's in Druskenwald," Torbek said, "he told Torbek he and his friends are fighting witches so he can get his curse broken" 

"I've heard of Druskenwald before," Twig said 

"What's it like?" Torbek asked 

"I have no idea" Twig shrugged "I've just heard of it before. What's your boyfriend like?"

"Briggsy's great! He's always so nice to Torbek and he doesn't run away at the sound of Torbeks voice or smell"

"Well he sounds amazing," Gricko said "I am so happy you were able to find someone who made you as happy as Clementine did"

"What do you guys do together?" Frost asked

"Well," Torbek started "after we freed the Winter Queen we spend a lot of time going town to town to meet people so we don't get a lot of time alone but he gave Torbek a bit of his coat so Torbek could keep a piece of him year-round" he pulled a piece of red fabric out of his pocket

Frost had to clench his jaw to keep himself from gagging at the scent of decay that lingered on it after he leaned into investigate; only solidifying his theory. 

“Um, Gideon” Twig started walking over to the genasi “if I ever died and Pigtunia came to you and said where’s Twig, would you lie to Pigtunia?” 

—————————————————

Episode 35

"What's the plan?" Frost asked, watching as Pigtunia pawed at the house she'd lead them too

"This is it boys" Gideon said, cracking his knuckles

"We just kick the door in? Go in shootin'?"

"YES!" Torbek almost yelled

"Fellas." Kremy started a look of panic in his eyes "was, was that a crossroads? Oh Gods oh no! What's happenin'?"

They all watched in horror as Kremys body started shifting, his green scales turning gray as they started to rot, his top hat shifted into a large pirates hat and his suit jacket turned into a pirates coat, and his snout narrowed as he shrunk a couple inches in height but grew a couple feet in width. A black and white undead crocodile now standing before them.

"AH!" Gricko shouted "ah, wha Kremy what happened to you?

"Kremy are you alright?" Frost asked "you look similar but different. Very similar but different"

"Fuck, is this the Beezleberry waffles?" Gideon asked

"Briggsy?" Torbek asked softly, unsure if he was still hallucinating from the mushroom spores

At the sound of the bug bears voice, all of the color popped back into the pirate and he dropped the cigaret he'd been holding.

"Torbek?" Briggsy asked looking around

"Briggsy!" Torbek exclaimed, rushing forward into his boyfriends embrace

"Hey there, love bug" Briggsy said, his voice muffled as he was nuzzling his snout into his boyfriends neck

"H-how, how'd you get here?"

"No idea"

At this point the bugbear and undead pirate had sat themselves on the ground, Briggsy having pulled his boyfriend into his lap, assumedly so they could share a kiss or at least attempted to kiss since Briggsy didn't have lips. They were all surprised when they heard Torbek purring, none of them knew he could do that or really what they should be doing in this situation.

"As happy as I am that you two have been reunited" Frost said after giving them about five minuets to enjoy the others presance "Twig's still missing"

"Oh right!" Torbek exclaimed "Gideon hurry punch the door down!"

Inside the building was a giant toad that was tied to a post, it looked uncomfortable as a pair of webbed fingers pushed their way out of its mouth; until it regurgitated the bullywug it had just swallowed.

"God damnit, I hate when you do that to me!" The bullywug grumbled to himself "we are not playing swallow the guard anymore" he noticed the carnival crew's presence "hey what're you doin' here?"

He pointed at Gricko accusedly before letting him know he had something for the goblin, asking them to watch the toad for about ten minuets so he could get the package, warning them not get to close. Gricko, however, did not listen to the warning and walked up to the toad so he could rub it's belly, only to be swallowed whole.

"Gricko" Gideon yelled, reaching out to grab his friend only for a weird sound to came out of his throat

"Gricko I will-" Frost couldn't finish his sentence as he banged his foot into something "AH! My fucking toe"

Briggsy scanned the room, looking for anything that could be holding Torbeks friend in; the bullywug was saying something to him, but he didn't really care what it was he just knew the only reason they were brought here because the pig was hungry.

"What're we gonna do?" Torbek asked, his brows furrowed "is he gonna suffocate?"

"I think I 'ave an idea" Briggsy said

"What is it Briggsy?" Torbek asked

"Please," Frost started "what is your suggestion?"

"I requires a bit of finesse and by that I mean voodoo gun!" Briggsy pulled out his gun and shot the toad

"Briggsy!" Torbek scolded "was that necessary?"

"Well," Briggsy started as Gricko's head popped out of the wrong end of the amphibian "he was probably gonna suffocate"

“Briggsy I trusted you and you killed the kings mount” Frost said, watching Gideon yank the goblin out of the toad

“What the hell happened to Blunk?” The stable guy asked

Frost, Gideon, and Gricko all came up with excuses as to how the toad had died.

“I told you not to get close to him!”

Despite how frustrated he was the bullywug gave Gricko his tiny package and immediately started gushing over Snail Number Two before taking them outside so he could put the saddle on him and they could all follow Pigtunia to Twig. Everyone climbing aboard the snail, except for Torbek and Briggsy, who both decided to walk, holding hands as they talked to one another.

“I think this’s the happiest I’ve ever seen Torbek” Frost whispered, watching as Briggsy kissed the back of Torbeks hand

"Yeah," Gricko said "I almost don't want Kremy to come back"

"Hey!" Gideon exclaimed, reaching around Frost so he could punch the goblin in the arm

"What? I said almost!" Gricko said, rubbing where he'd been hit "of course I want Kremy to come back, but look at them"

"I know" Gideon sighed "but we need Kremy"

Torbek almost didn't notice when Pigtunia stopped or that the others were dismounting from Snail Number Two, until Briggsy pulled him closer to himself so Gricko didn't hit him in his failed attempt to get down from his snail. Gideon was able to kick open the door with no issue at all and once they entered the building Briggsy pulled Torbek behind him, fully ready to protect him but before anything happened, what ever magic had brought him here had worn off and Kremy was back.

"Aw," Torbek whined, feeling conflicted because he was glad Mr. Kremy was back but he still wanted his boyfriend to be here

"Hey, Kremy" Gricko said "you missed Briggsy"

"What?" Kremy asked

[xalygatorx]

A/N: Second part to this very fun request by @macehysteria.

Also a first description of how Adelie looked when she was alive since I kind of dodged around it at the beginning of DiP. 👀

Hope you like it, lovely! 🥰 

Warnings: References to domestic abuse, period-typical homophobia and racism, murder, demonic rituals/summonings, Human!Alastor and Demon!Adelie DiP AU inspired by The Rose-Sleeved Record (another DiP AU), Vox is here for some reason

It's also stupidly long, idk what happened.

Part 1

“You do have a more…human form, don’t you?”

“That might’ve been a good thing to ask before we shook on it.”

Alastor’s seemingly ever-constant smile wavered until Adelie’s own pokerface broke. “Luckily for you, I do,” she mumbled. “I’ve never tried it though. And I can’t, like, cater to your tastes before you even ask. I can only look how I did when I was alive apparently.”

His eyes widened a little. “When you were—?”

“Alive,” Adelie finished for him, still not a fan of lingering on her own death. “Yeah. I’m not Hellborn, I’m a sinner.”

“Fascinating,” Alastor murmured, eyes practically sparkling behind his wireframes with interest. “And what did a dame like you do to deserve such a fate, hm?”

A brief flash of hurt washed through her features before she schooled them again. “Story for another time maybe,” she murmured as she looked down at herself. “Now would you let me out of this circle so I can change and we can get a move on?”

She was a fiery one and it couldn’t have all been based in the hellfire and brimstone she’d potentially left behind to return to the land of the living.

Alastor was far more of a fan of this than he felt he had any sane reason to be.

Bold of him, he supposed, to assume there was a scrap left of his oft-missing sanity.

With the edge of his sole, Alastor wiped through some of the blood sigils on the floor, disrupting the circle and freeing the demoness inside. She shook herself a little and skirted through the gap in the circle, forcing her to step close to him for a second before she could pivot.

Bafflingly, where Alastor had expected to catch a whiff of aforementioned brimstone, he smelled…lilacs? Who was she?

“Right, so what sort of outfit do I need for wherever we’re going tonight?” she asked as she took her coveted peek out the window and then turned to him when all she found was swamp. It was novel to her, given that there was next to nothing so green in Hell, but it wasn’t quite what she’d been hoping for. 

Alastor glanced over her current ensemble—a white, tea-length satiny dress with a pair of white kitten heels. “You already look dressed for the occasion, dear,” he told her, smothering any indication he may have made about how fetching she looked in it. 

Adelie made a little disgruntled noise in her throat, glancing down at herself and then eying the red accents in Alastor’s suit before bleeding the same shade of crimson into the fabric of her dress and shoes. Once she was done, she checked her work and therefore missed the faint blush that had started to creep up the radio host’s neck. 

“Right, while I figure out how to do the rest of this,” she said with a vague gesture toward her person, “tell me about yourself in case someone asks me things about you tonight.”

“Like what?” Alastor asked, sounding even a little dumbstruck to himself and wincing. 

Thankfully, she didn’t notice. “Um, well, favorite color, what you do for work… I don’t know, your birthday? Just stuff like that,” Adelie mused. “Also maybe how we met and what the circumstances were of us starting to date, that kind of thing.”

“Well, we would call that ‘courting,’ first off,” Alastor said after giving a bashful clear of his throat. 

The truth was that some would call it dating instead, but she needn’t know that.

The difference being that the sort of “dating” that was becoming ever more popular these days had an air of pure “fun” and a carefree feel to it with no real intent behind most of those more casual relationships. “Courting” had intent.

A further truth was that it was highly unlikely anyone would be surprised if he leaned into that “dating” life given how difficult he’d been to “tie down” by anyone who’d tried. So he really had no reason to correct her on her verbiage.

The deepest truth, however, that he even skirted past acknowledging, himself, was that he hadn’t the faintest idea of why he’d insisted on calling what they were doing “courting.”

“My mistake,” Adelie said, accepting the correction without batting an eye. “Vernacular is going to be something else I’ll have to think on. Do people say something’s the ‘bee’s knees’ yet?”

Alastor chuckled, something dangerously close to affection sneaking into his smile. Admittedly, he could hardly help it. She was charming. 

“Yes, people do,” he said, using her wording to tease her just a little. He wondered if that’s how he would go out this very night—death by smiting for teasing a demoness just a touch too far.

“Cat’s pajamas?” she wondered and the faint twist to her lips indicated that she was trying to amuse him now while she made various attempts to channel her power toward her appearance in new ways. Snapping her fingers, closing her eyes and holding her breath, turning this way and that, and then occasionally picking up a tendril of her hair to study to see if any of it had worked.

“Yes, indeedy,” Alastor confirmed, eyes widening a little when it seemed she’d finally struck gold in her attempts. Perhaps seeing her looking like a human woman would throw water on the flame he felt steadily, softly heating up his insides and sending that infernal flush up his neck.

He was a fool to think that would fix anything.

A fluttering wave of pearlescent magic fluttered like butterfly wings up and over her form. The process only took a few seconds and yet Alastor felt floored enough for the better part of an eternity.

White curls turned to a dark strawberry blonde. Ashen skin turned sun-bronzed. Her startlingly contrasted eyes turned soft and sagey green with a tinge of brown near the pupils. The scars he’d noticed on her face and neck faded to become nearly indiscernible and flecked instead with light freckles. Her stature had lowered by a few inches and her nails had become shorter, polished the same red as her attire.

The honey-colored eyes of the man standing opposite her failed to shift away, borderline mesmerized by her mere existence in a way he’d never been before, in a way he’d only heard about and scoffed at from the mouths and tales of others.

And then the traitorous thought, the question now embedded in his mind: Why did it take reaching through dimensions to meet someone like you?

“Well?”

Alastor realized he’d frozen up a bit and shook off the shock, playing it off as shock and nothing more. “It appears to have worked! Well done, dear!” he congratulated her. 

Adelie hesitated, glancing just past him toward the mirror hung over his dresser. She looked…almost scared. Still, she drew in a breath and walked to the mirror. 

To Alastor’s surprise and confusion, she flinched at her own reflection, one of her hands reflexively moving to cover her rouged lips. She traced her fingertips across the bridge of her nose, down over her throat, and slowly approached the mirror for a closer look after she’d overcome her shock or perhaps assured herself by the reflected figure’s copycat movements that this was, in fact, herself that she was seeing.

Giving her a few seconds free of his gaze, Alastor checked the watch in his breast-pocket and gave a small hum of discontent at the time. He didn’t want to hurry her, but the ritual and their original deal had taken longer than he’d accounted for—much longer and they’d be late.

Alastor sidled up beside her, inspecting the image of them side-by-side in the mirror and letting his appreciation show in his smile. 

“My favorite color, I suppose, is red,” he mused, backtracking to her original slew of brainstormed questions, “and my birthday is the 22nd of May. I’m 33 years old. I am a radio host—the radio host of the moment, if I may be so bold without showing the full breadth of my ego. Let’s see… For our part…”

He didn’t miss the way her cheeks went a little pink under his intense stare. With an inquiring tilt to his brow, he silently asked permission to place a hand against her shoulder. When she nodded, he let his palm rest just so, her skin hot beneath his hand. He found himself a little relieved that this didn’t change with the rest of her.

“We met at the busy little café on Burgundy Street two months back,” Alastor spun his yarn. “I was grabbing something to get me through a recording session and you were…”

“Planning to meet with an old friend who never showed,” Adelie added thoughtfully. “I was just heading out the door when you were opening it to come inside.”

Alastor chuckled. “How quaint,” he agreed. “Of course, we had our little Hollywood starstruck meeting of the eyes in the doorway.”

“Of course,” Adelie simpered.

“And perhaps, hoping for a few minutes more of your time, I suggested that we walk together if you were heading in the same direction as the station,” Alastor suggested, absently tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Chatting all the way there.”

“So much so that you didn’t realize until we were parting ways at the station that you’d forgotten to get the coffee you’d been after in the first place,” Adelie said with a soft laugh that warmed his chest. She met his eyes in the mirror. “So I gave you mine.”

“Thank you for it,” Alastor bantered as he found himself lost for a moment in her gaze, noticing his voice had come out a touch too soft and low to sell the light air he’d meant to accompany the remark.

The rest was sorted out in the car en route to his mother’s home (after Alastor had managed to herd Adelie into the passenger seat in the middle of all her ooh-ing and aah-ing over the vintage automobile). 

They decided that perhaps she’d swung by the station at a later date and brought him coffee from that same café. Maybe then they’d stolen some time between shows to get to know each other a little better.

They decided that they should say Alastor hadn’t asked to court her until just a week ago. It afforded room for them to still not know everything about each other (despite Adelie giving him a few details of her own human life, changed to accommodate the current era) and also explained why he’d not told anyone about her prior to this night.

They’d thought they were prepared well enough until they arrived on Alastor’s mom’s porch steps and knocked at the door.

“You’re fidgeting,” Adelie informed Alastor as he straightened his lapels for the fifth time. She could see why he kept picking that particular detail to fuss over—one side was refusing to lie flat, but it was much more of a nervous energy driving his actions at the moment. She could practically smell it on him. “You have nothing to worry about. Parents historically love me.”

Alastor gave her a perturbed version of his signature (anxious) smile. “This isn’t something I’m precisely practiced in, dearest,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Lapel-smoothing?”

“Bringing women to meet my mother.”

Adelie gave him a dubious look. “You’re the one who wanted to do this,” she murmured, lowering her voice. “Besides, you’re a showman, aren’t you? Just treat it like one of your broadcasts. Play it up.”

“Those sorts of things don’t work on my mother,” he told her as he gave up on his collar. “Never have. At least not from me.”

Adelie hummed and evaluated both Alastor and his suitcoat before holding out the covered ceramic dish she’d babysat during the drive there. His reason given for the evening visit was the premise of bringing his mother some jambalaya he’d made that’d save her the effort of cooking for a least a few days. When he took the dish automatically, Adelie stepped closer and set to work on his lapel, herself. 

“It’ll be fine,” she reiterated as she got his lapel to finally behave. He smelled like a rich, subtle cologne and coffee and it was difficult for her to not lean in further and chase the intoxicating bouquet. She felt her face heat and rolled her eyes at herself. “It’s just a little show.”

Separately, both faintly blushing individuals wondered to themselves, Isn’t it?

The door opened before Adelie removed her fingertips from his suitcoat collar and both Adelie and Alastor turned toward the woman standing behind the screened exterior door. 

“Oh, hello, Mother!” Alastor chirped, his voice a little strained as Adelie stepped back and reclaimed the dish from his hands. “I’d like to introduce you to—”

“Oh, my stars, Al, she’s gorgeous!”  

Adelie laughed softly as she was swiftly maneuvered inside by Alastor’s mom despite her son’s insistence that they couldn’t stay, he’d merely wanted to introduce them on the way to the fundraiser for the station. All comments that fell on deaf ears in his dear mother’s determination to get as much information as she could out of him and his lovely date.

Who could really blame her either? After all, she was the first gal her beloved son had ever brought home.

It took Alastor a while to get a word in edgewise, but when he did, he used that freedom to properly introduce his mother to Adelie and vice versa. 

He had to step away when his mother insisted that he put the dish in the kitchen so she could sit and chat with “his ladyfriend.” Alastor figured that perhaps he should’ve felt more anxiety over leaving his dear, aging mother with a demon by herself, but he simply…didn’t.

He’d convince himself after this realization that it was due to the wording of their deal specifically prohibiting any harm to come to his mother during this visit. However, that particular detail was remembered long after he found himself nonplussed at the notion.

Adelie made good on her claims at having a good track record with parents—his mom adored her by the time Alastor was finally putting effort in to get them back out to the car twenty minutes later. 

Yet another unfortunate side effect of his earlier decision to correct Adelie’s wording from “dating” to “courting” was regarding the implied permanence of their union to anyone who heard it except, well, Adelie, who didn’t really know the difference.

Alastor felt a little bad when he saw how well the two ladies took to one another. (And a little wistful, too?)

There was one brief moment in the kitchen when it was just him alone with his mother that she fretted over the most obvious difference between them—a difference so much less noticeable after seeing her demonic form (as he knew it) that he’d not even stopped to ponder it, himself.

“Al, she’s absolutely precious,” his mother murmured to him as they leaned against the kitchen counter, his head bowed down to catch the words of the much smaller woman. “But are you gonna be okay?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Alastor asked.

“Cut the radio voice with me, kiddo,” she murmured, firm but affectionate. “I’m proud of ya, but I wanna talk to my boy right now.”

Alastor’s gaze softened and he nodded. “Apologies, Mama,” he said, gradually slipping back into the drawl he’d grown up with. The one he’d inherited from her that laced his voice with southern warmth.

“She’s white, honey,” his mom said. “Which I know you know. And she seems rightly progressive, but what if her family’s not? I just don’t want ya to get hurt, sweetie.”

Alastor knew she didn’t mean “hurt” in the emotional sense. In their case, “hurt” dating light-skinned folk could just as effortlessly translate to “lynched” regardless of how well they hit it off. Sometimes the worst outcomes came when an interracial couple were most in love—it only took one self-righteous father or brother or cousin or whomever to end everything.

And of course, having “met” (summoned) Adelie the way he had, this had only just crossed his mind. 

“She’s not in touch with her family. She’s from out-of-state based on what she’s told me and has no interest in rekindling any kind of relationship with them,” he lied smoothly. “But I’ll be careful, Ma. I promise.”

“Good boy,” she sighed, patting his arm. “I want you to be happy. But I also want you to be safe.”

He couldn’t imagine what she’d think if she knew what he did in his off-time. How completely not safe he chose to be at all times simply by existing and letting his darker instincts unfurl.

They got to the fundraiser much later than intended, the car ride there quieter than the one to get to his mother’s. Adelie seemed pensive or at least distracted by the city rolling past her window.

Adelie broke the silence once to tell him how lovely his mother was and that, for whatever it was worth coming from his “stand-in partner,” she really liked the woman who raised him.

Alastor had thanked her, agreeing that she was the best of humanity as he saw it. He wasn’t sure why her term “stand-in partner” bothered him, but he kept that piece to himself.

The fundraiser was stuffy, as fundraisers can be. Lots of handshaking and elbow-rubbing, but Alastor endured it for the good cause.

He kept Adelie close, usually on his arm, and introduced her whenever the occasion arose, admiring her in his peripheral fleetingly and often. She was charismatic and charming, managing to keep her vocabulary and slang neutral if not period-relevant and apologizing once or twice when she thought she’d been a little overly friendly or snarky to fit the bill of a 1920s dame.

Alastor assured her she needn’t apologize. Secretly, he wished far more folk were like her.

A handful of the guests side-eyed them for their color contrast, but she didn’t seem to notice. If she did, she made no note of it and no change in her behavior. If anything, she made extra sure to make it clear that she was choosing to stand by him and hang off his arm for the evening.

The judgmental stares of others had never felt so inconsequential.

It took toward the end of their time at the fundraiser for Alastor to admit he was attending to Adelie as if she were truly his date. No matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself to be more hands-off, so to speak, because she was holding up her end of a bargain for him, he couldn’t help the occasional pat on her hand holding his arm or asking if she’d like something to drink, and so on.

Damn it all, he liked her. Was she some sort of succubus? Could he aptly convince himself that the source of his budding infatuation was something otherworldly? More otherworldly than the idea of him actually having a semblance of feelings for someone? An attraction?

Alastor’s woe-is-me line of thinking puttered to a halt when he glanced down at her and caught a faint bit of fatigue in her gaze as it swept across the throngs of attendees dancing their entrepreneurial dance. His eyes narrowed slightly as he thought—he’d shown his face here, after all, like his boss had wanted. There was no harm in—

“Alastor!”

The radio host groaned inwardly. Through his teeth, he greeted the blue-suited, in his opinion sleazy newcomer. “Mr. Vox,” Alastor gritted. “What a surprise.”

The wannabe rival entertainer chortled and waved him off. “Please, Al, how many times do I have to say it? Just call me—”

“I will continue to call you ‘Mr. Vox’, as is proper for near-strangers,” Alastor countered firmly. Keeping his purposefully intimidating gaze on the other man, Alastor added, “My dear, this is a…friend of the station and the host of this soiree, Mr. Vox.”

Oh, he did not like the way this rat of a man looked at Adelie. It was the way he had to imagine a shark would perceive a bleeding fish amongst the tides.

“Well, whatddya know!” Mr. Vox boomed with a self-important grin. “Never thought I’d see the day our Al had a gal in tow! And what would your name be, sweetheart?”

It was far too easy for Alastor to forget that Adelie could surely rip the man in half if she wanted to, especially when she was small and sweet beside him with her demonic features under wraps. Even if they’d been on show, he wasn’t certain he wouldn’t have felt the aggressive urge in his chest to slap the other man’s extended hand away. A warning look from his boss across the room to play nice with their sponsors made Alastor set the idea aside. For now.

“Adelie,” she responded, polite but subdued. “Charmed.”

“A woman of few words,” Mr. Vox observed after dropping a kiss to her hand. Alastor wondered what he’d look like with those lips ripped clean off his face. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Al!”

Alastor gave a noncommittal hum, entertaining the man’s remaining bout of small talk with terse responses that discouraged further conversation until the man caught sight of someone else to circle and bother. They said their goodbyes and Alastor’s shoulders relaxed ever-so-slightly at the man’s departure.

After a moment, Alastor’s gaze dropped back down to Adelie as a slow, mischievous smirk curled his lips.

Leaning down, he whispered near her ear, “Want to go to a real party?”

It wasn’t part of their deal. 

The deal had been for them to meet his mother (during which no harm would come to her, physical or emotional) and to attend the party, both under the guise of her being his new girlfriend. 

There was no second draft or amendment drawn up for her to accompany him to Mimzy’s, which he supposed later could’ve been a problem for him had she meant him or his flapper friends or the business itself any harm.

For the moment, he was smug in the knowledge that she’d agreed to accompany him without any such amendment as well. Which could only point toward the possibility that she was going with him because she wanted to.

They arrived at Mimzy’s just as the nightly festivities were at their peak, a veritable crowd crammed into the comfortably musty old speakeasy to stand at the bar, pack into the tables lining the walls, or swing it on the dance floor down by the stage.

“There are so many people here!” Adelie half-shouted over the noise, marveling at the bar interior, the energy, and the fashion surrounding them.

“It’s always a bit more lively on the weekends,” Alastor chuckled, bent close to her ear so she could hear him. “Please say so if it’s too much, my dear.”

“Are you kidding?” Adelie laughed, a bright smile gifted to him when she turned her head. “This is amazing!”

Alastor grinned back. “I’m glad you think so,” he said, maneuvering them both through the crowd and up to the bar to get them both a drink. Worried she’d get lost in the crowd if he so much as displaced her—or at least feeding that excuse to himself—Alastor shuffled Adelie in front of him at the bar, his hands resting against the counter on either side of her. 

He had her boxed in, her back just touching his chest, but she didn’t feel caged so much as shielded—the lines of his long arms created barriers between her and the people on either side of them. Once she remembered to be a little amused that he, a human, was running interference for her, a demon, she did find it all a little funny. 

Before that though, she’d forgotten for a moment she was dead and not of this time. Before that, she’d started getting a little too comfortable.

“What would you like, cher?”

Adelie blinked and tilted her head back to look up at him, dazed by the little unexpected endearment—very akin to his original unexpected compliment upon her arrival—and answered, “Oh, um… Whatever you’re having’s fine.”

One of his brows arched up high as he smirked. His glasses had begun a slow descent down his nose as he looked down at her. “Whiskey neat?” he challenged her. “You’re quite sure?”

Adelie huffed a soft laugh and reached up to press his glasses back up into place. “Quite,” she bantered back, earning a genuine smile from her “date.” 

Was it still a “date”?

Or was it just a date now?

They were both too wary of the illusion shattering to ask the other the answer to the question they were both wondering by the end of the night.

Instead, they threw back drinks—Adelie switched to old-fashioneds after the first finger of straight whiskey—and tore up the dancefloor the second Alastor caught wind that Adelie might be able to keep up with him.

And keep up with him, she did. 

She managed it as well as Mimzy and he realized with a sinking feeling that he might not ever feel entirely satisfied leading Mimzy in a dance again.

Speaking of Mimzy, it took her no time at all to infiltrate their evening, brimming with curiosity (and a touch of envy, it was true) about Alastor’s date.

Because by that point, it was a date and no longer a “date.”

The only imperfection of the evening came in the form of some drunken cad barreling over and trying to cut into their dance partway through the night, too imbibed to take a hint.

“Apologies on Mimzy’s behalf,” Alastor said as he scooped Adelie in close on the next step of their current number. They’d since lost their hesitance in reaching for one another—the dancing had helped bridge what was left of that gap. “She… She’s a dear friend, but she can be a lot to handle.”

Adelie just laughed. “I have a beloved friend back downstairs who’s similar energy-wise,” she told him. “It’s completely fine.”

Alastor’s brows rose. “So not a friend from life, but a friend in Hell?” he wondered. “The more you mention about it, the less I think any of what religion likes to preach is true.”

“Call it blasphemy, but I’m here to tell you it’s not,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I’m friends with Lucifer, too, and he’s a gem. So’s his daughter.”

Alastor had been trying to come up with a response when a man he’d seen around but had never spoken to tried to relieve him of his dance partner and nearly sloshed her with what was left of his giggle water in the process.

For an instant, Adelie’s instinctive response to a man coming at her like that harkened back to what it would’ve been when she was alive—a flinch, an attempted dodge. And then, well, she remembered she wasn’t a human anymore.

Alastor had a bit more trouble with that recollection than she did as his gaze fastened on the man and turned positively murderous.

Adelie’s nose wrinkled as the man leaned down and mumbled near her ear, goading her to leave this “wet blanket” and take off with someone who’d really “take care of her.” She shoved him off with restraint, figuring that flinging him across the speakeasy might draw attention. When he persisted, she decided he was drunk enough to forget whatever she did come morning. Or, at the very least, not fully be able to trust his memory.

His stale breath fanned against her face. “C’mon, darlin’, live a little, eh? Could snap tha’ twig in half—”

Adelie’s head snapped back with an audible crack and she met his eyes. Hers blazed red as her fangs lengthened in her grinning mouth. “Really. And what do you snap like, I wonder,” she purred, the throaty depth of her true form painting the edges of her voice.

It was enough for him to startle backward and fall on his ass, her face back to normal the second he leaned back. He gaped up at her politely confused expression like a fish until his friends came to collect him, murmuring sorries and excuses for his piss-poor behavior as they pulled him away.

Adelie felt herself give a little sigh of relief once he was gone, but tensed again as she wondered how much Alastor had seen and if he’d have a similar reaction to the man she’d scared. Clearly, she’d forgotten who she was dealing with.

Alastor’s gaze was borderline heated when she met it again, his smile turning sly as he offered her his hand again to pick up where they’d left off. 

Of course she took it.

They ducked out of the speakeasy around three in the morning, warm and buzzing when they hit the humid night air outside. 

Adelie’s demon body sobered up much more quickly than Alastor’s human one did, so she ended up driving them back to his home at his direction and after some instruction on how to operate the car. 

They’d fallen apart into giggles at least three times on the drive home whenever she’d accidentally caused them to lurch to a stop in the middle of the empty street and sworn up a storm before she could catch herself.

She successfully got them back to his home, however, and dropped her disguise once they were inside and away from any potential late-night prying eyes.

The one thing she kept was the red dress and heels. In fact, she was considering keeping them that color permanently as a little memory of the night.

Maybe it was also her way of trying to set herself up to part ways with the human man she’d started crushing on at some point this evening without her logical mind’s consent.

“Thank you, darling,” Alastor said once they were inside, turning to face her and ignoring the burn in his chest that had only somewhat to do with the whiskey intake that night. “For a wonderful evening.”

Adelie couldn’t help herself. “Was it the bee’s knees?” she asked.

Alastor rolled his eyes, but it was with an affectionate look. “The cat’s pajamas.”

Adelie laughed and nodded. “Thank you for a fun time,” she said, absently fidgeting with her skirt so she didn’t accidentally make a fool of herself by letting him see she was a bit sad to go. “You certainly didn’t have to make it a nice evening for me, as it wasn’t a requirement for our deal, but you did and… Well, I haven’t had that much fun in a while.”

“I could hardly call myself a gentleman if I didn’t ensure my date had a lovely evening, now could I?” he wondered, watching her demeanor become almost shy. What a strange one she was. What a strange one he was to have a schoolboy’s crush on a demoness. His brow creased at the thought. “I do have one question before you go.”

She glanced up from toying with her skirt and nodded once for him to proceed. “Go on.”

“Is there anything innate about demons—specifically demons like you—that would have a…tempting effect on a human?” Alastor asked slowly. “Like a succubus or whatnot.” 

Adelie bit her lip a little to keep from smirking. “No,” she said. “Not unless said demon is a succubus or an incubus, of course.”

Alastor’s head tilted to the side. “Are you?”

“Is this easier if I say I am?” Adelie asked, understanding why he was asking now. The slight saddening of her tone said so much.

Alastor gave a rueful smile. “Assuming we’re speaking of the same ‘this,’ then no, I suppose not,” he said. “But I had to know.”

“Bit of a silly plot twist for the night, isn’t it,” Adelie mused. Her tone shivered as she watched Alastor step closer, murmuring as he was leaning down toward her, “...Al?”

He said nothing and instead pressed a polite, startlingly intimate kiss to the corner of her mouth. His warm whiskey-laced breath traced her jaw as he murmured, “Perhaps. But it’s a story I would read again if given the opportunity.”

Adelie’s face reddened, her dead heart pounding as she absorbed his meaning. She couldn’t help the small smile that found its way to her face. This…was absurd. But…

“Well, you already know my number apparently,” she quipped softly, beaming when that drew a genuine, full-bodied laugh from Alastor. 

They parted on that note, only half-joking whenever the mention of another meeting was thrown out, either topside or when Alastor eventually ended up Hellbound as well.

Alastor would repay his debt to her (with zeal and haste) and then it would be on him to summon her again if he so decided to. (He would.)

When she left that first time, she did leave one thing in her wake—a manufactured memento of their spun yarn of a first meeting. 

A takeaway coffee cup from that café on Burgundy Street with her name scrawled on the side of the white paper cup and a faint lipstick print decorating the rim.

That little keepsake would fall into line with his first radio and his mother’s ring in his carefully curated collection of his most treasured things.

-

This ended up so long, I'm so sorry. LOL Hope you enjoyed it, thank you again for the request! x

[meatenbone]

Is Sam/Undergrowth 'The Green'?

In DC there is a nebulous force that connects and animates all plant life across all worlds and galaxies (afaik) known only as The Green; the Swamp Thing is connected to it. It was made by ancient elementals, which sounds a lot like the Ancient of Nature in DP.

Lately I've been wondering what purpose the Ancients even fulfill so this works. What if Sam, as part of Ghost King Danny's court, took over Undergrowth's position as Ancient of Nature.

[jeannereames]

Should we (not) read old history books?

And by old I mean academic works from maybe the 1960s onwards. Of course I understand what you always say about dated opinions, advances on historiography & archeology. And I don't dispute in any way, shape or form that we should always read the most recent work.

But is the old academic work really that disposable? Don't we have anything to learn with history books from the 80s, 90s, 2000s? Thanks for your attention.

The problem isn’t so much that they’re old, but that—if you’re entering an area of history about which you might not know much—older books can have pitfalls that newer ones don’t. This is hardly to say, just because something is recent, it’s good. Far from it. But my caution on older books was specifically in response to the query about reading pop history, and how to know what to trust.

So that’s the caveat. In that same post, I mentioned that I still regularly recommend Brian Bosworth’s Conquest and Empire from 1988. It’s a great fast summary and he tackles several important themes in part II. I also often recommend Gene Borza’s In the Shadow of Olympus (1991). Until Sabine published her book on Perdikkas, his chapter on Perdikkas there was the best thing in print (and still is in English).

Of course, to me, the 80s aren’t old books. Ha. When I think “old” books, I’m thinking 1950s and earlier. Part of that owes to the fact some very important ideological changes happened in history as a discipline in the 1960s and 1970s.

Yet one issue with older books—even good ones—involves new evidence. The asker alludes to that. Unfortunately, one must already know something about a field to discern what information in an older book is outdated. So, let’s take Gene’s In the Shadow as an example. Two very important changes in evidence have happened since that book came out. First, the matter of language (and thus ethnicity) of the ancient Macedonians. Gene argues that we don’t know what language the ancient Macedonians spoke, in large part because we just don’t have enough of it to judge. He suggests it might not be Greek (which was how he leaned at the time). That was all true…in 1990. But we do now have enough epigraphical evidence to say the ancient Macedonians spoke a form of Doric Greek (and Attic for court business). That means they were Greeks, however “backwards” politically/culturally, to the Greek mind.*

Similarly, none of us knew then what was about to come out of the ground at Archontiko in the early 2000s. Even what we’d seen at Aigai and Sindos didn’t make it clear how astonishing the Archaic Age was, up there. All these recent discoveries have changed what we think we know about Argead Macedonia before Philip and Alexander. Gene hinted at some of it in his assertion that, from Archelaos to Philip, Macedon went through a slump, and Philip brought it back. It didn’t just emerge from the swamps with Philip (as Demosthenes and other ancient writers would have one believe). So, Gene was already on the leading curve, but in 1990, none of us had seen enough yet. I remember sending him pictures from Archontiko near the end of his life, and he was very excited, commenting how it would change our ideas about Archaic Era Macedon.

So, if you read his book (and I hope you do), a lot of what’s in there is still solid material, 30 years later. But a few things are dated. And now you know two things that are…because I told you.

But if you didn’t have me to tell you, how would you know?

Ergo my caution. If you’re entering a field that’s new to you, start with later articles and work your way backwards. Ironically, that’s how I got into Macedonian history…reading arguments in the footnotes of articles, especially between the “Three Bs” (Badian, Borza, and Bosworth), plus Green, Heckel, Carney, Anson, Adams, and Greenwalt. Before I ever knew those guys, I was reading their citations of—and commentary about—each other. From that, I was able to render my own ideas of what I trusted, and didn’t trust, about Alexander, Philip, and Macedonia.

And that brings me to my final point. YES, reading earlier articles and books is very important when you really get into a field, precisely for the HISTORIOGRAPHY. In this case, not ancient, but modern. How did a field develop over time? To grok where Alexander studies are today, one must know a bit about where they began, with the heroizing of Droysen, Tarn, et al. in the late 1800s and pre-war era, down to Badian blowing it all up post-war in the late 1950s and the revolution of the ‘60s and ‘70s with Badian, Green, Bosworth, and Schachermeyer and their revisionist view of ATG. About the same time, we get the rise of Macedonian Studies apart from Alexander and Philip, under Edson, Dell, Hammond, and their students. And it all peaked really with the discovery of the Royal Tombs at Vergina when Macedonian archaeology both married and divorced (at the same time) Macedonian history. It’s really hard to express how radically ATG and Macedonian studies changed in the 1980s and ‘90s. Then is changed again in the early 2000s when everybody got tired of debating Who’s Buried in Philip’s Tomb and Macedonian ethnicty. Archaeology turned up new treasures but passed mostly into Greek hands (and was written in modern Greek) while historians started looking more closely at literary trends and Romanization overlay. More recently yet, (some) archaeology is coming back into English, and a wider awareness, welding to new literary approaches to ATG and Macedonian history. And don’t forget the important publication of Brill’s New Jacoby, making a huge contribution to source criticism! Where are we headed next? Time will tell!

So yes, reading older texts helps one situate where we are now relative to where we were then, and back then, and even before back then.

That said, if you’re brand new to reading about Alexander the Great, PLEASE please don’t pick up either Droysen or Tarn’s history of Alexander and think it’s anything close to accurate.

We’ve come a long way, baby.

———————-

* If you’ve read my Dancing with the Lion, you know that I tried to flip that, looking at Greece from the north and giving the Macedonian view of Greeks. So I want to emphasize that each side viewed the other was “lesser.” I’m not advocating, above, the Greek view as correct.

[mylostlenora]

my sapphic tbr🤍 pt. 1

1. Ink Vine, Elizabeth Broadbent:

Stay the hell out of the swamp — the backwater town of Lower Congaree recites it like an eleventh commandment. But when exotic dancer Emmy Joiner sneaks under the dark tree-canopy behind her family trailer, she meets mysterious, tattooed Zara, the first girl she dares to kiss.

But the small-town South hates a woman who dares to dance instead of plucking chickens for minimum wage, and as Emmy’s life falls apart, her relationship with Zara grows more tangled and bizarre. Zara’s offering something beautiful. But while Emmy’s slowly strangling, its price may be more than she’s willing to pay.

Shifting between the green-bright cypress cathedral and the dreamland of a dance club, Broadbent’s unforgettably-voiced debut confronts the brutal realities of poverty in the South, with a sapphic tale both sultry and sinister, gritty and gothic.”

2. My Darling Dreadful Thing, Johanna Van Veen

“Roos Beckman has a spirit companion only she can see. Ruth―strange, corpse-like, and dead for centuries―is the light of Roos' life. That is, until the wealthy young widow Agnes Knoop visits one of Roos' backroom seances, and the two strike up a connection.

Soon, Roos is whisked away to the crumbling estate Agnes inherited upon the death of her husband, where an ill woman haunts the halls, strange smells drift through the air at night, and mysterious stone statues reside in the family chapel. Something dreadful festers in the manor, but still, the attraction between Roos and Agnes is undeniable.

Then, someone is murdered.

Poor, alone, and with a history of 'hysterics', Roos is the obvious culprit. With her sanity and innocence in question, she'll have to prove who―or what―is at fault or lose everything she holds dear.”

3. House of Hunger, Alexis Henderson

“A young woman is drawn into the upper echelons of a society where blood is power in this dark and enthralling Gothic novel from the author of The Year of the Witching.

Marion Shaw has been raised in the slums, where want and deprivation are all she know. Despite longing to leave the city and its miseries, she has no real hope of escape until the day she spots a peculiar listing in the newspaper seeking a bloodmaid.

Though she knows little about the far north—where wealthy nobles live in luxury and drink the blood of those in their service—Marion applies to the position. In a matter of days, she finds herself the newest bloodmaid at the notorious House of Hunger. There, Marion is swept into a world of dark debauchery. At the center of it all is Countess Lisavet.

The countess, who presides over this hedonistic court, is loved and feared in equal measure. She takes a special interest in Marion. Lisavet is magnetic, and Marion is eager to please her new mistress. But when she discovers that the ancient walls of the House of Hunger hide even older secrets, Marion is thrust into a vicious game of cat and mouse. She’ll need to learn the rules of her new home—and fast—or its halls will soon become her grave.”

4. Our Hideous Progeny, C.E. McGill

“Mary is the great-niece of Victor Frankenstein. She knows her great uncle disappeared under mysterious circumstances in the Arctic, but she doesn’t know why or how. . . .

The 1850s are a time of discovery, and London is ablaze with the latest scientific theories and debates, especially when a spectacular new exhibition of dinosaur sculptures opens at the Crystal Palace. Mary is keen to make her name in this world of science alongside her geologist husband, Henry—but despite her sharp mind and sharper tongue, without wealth and connections their options are limited.

When Mary discovers some old family papers that allude to the shocking truth behind her great-uncle’s past, she thinks she may have found the key to securing her and Henry’s professional and financial future. Their quest takes them to the wilds of Scotland; to Henry’s intriguing but reclusive sister, Maisie; and to a deadly chase with a rival who is out to steal their secret.”

[quillpokebiology]

Hey there. Ya got any Goodra facts?

Yup! Goodra is one of my favorite dragon types, and I have one which I love dearly. I'm really glad you asked about them!

Goodra Facts

-The scientific name for the Goodra line is "Glaucus limus" which roughly translates to, "Blue-green slime"

-Goodra are actually Gastropods, making then related to pokemon like Gastrodon and Mcargo

-Goodra's slime isn't just for show; the slime protects their sensitive skin from dirt and grime that might get on them, which the slime washes away. Goodra covering their trainers in slime might be an attempt to clean them. (headcanon from @xain-russell ). The slime is also used to keep them moist when out of swampy areas

-As well as that, Goodra can also breathe through their skin, and the slime makes it easier to absorb oxygen. 

-The Goodra line is highly valued for their slime, leading it to sell for really high prices at shops. But this has led for illegal breeding companies, who have poor working conditions and have been known to treat Goodra very badly, as their only purpose is to produce slime. The slime can be turned into medicine

-Goodra are very social pokemon and have been known to seek out other members of their line to live with. This can be a problem, however, since members of the Goodra line are very rare to find in the wild. To combat this, Goodra will often befriend and live with other pokemon

-While Goomy and Sligoo usually live in swamps, while Goodra tend to live in caves

-Research shows that ancient Goodra used to be poison types

-A common joke in midevial Kalos showed of brave knights fighting weak Goomy. With this however, there came a fairytale of a knight training with a Goomy until it evolved into Goodra, and became a very powerful knight itself

-Goodra lost their shells due to environmental changes, but they still have the gene for them. It just isn't active (headcanon from @nerdpokemonheadcanons )

-Goodra toungues are pointed at the ends and have tiny spikes on them

-They have a lot more teeth than you would think, but plenty of them of them are hidden and very, very, very small. They have up to 14,000 teeth, which are located in a part of their mouth known as the Radula

-The feelers are very sensitive, and still hold all 5 senses. They can still smell through their nose and taste through their mouth though

-Because of their really social nature Goodra often form polygamous relationships, and care for their partners deeply (My Goodra has tried to court members of my party, but sadly, they weren't interested)

-Goodra are very protective of their eggs, and will protect them with their life. It becomes a shock to a lot of people over how aggressive they can get

-Goodra will coat their eggs in slime to make them less appealing to predators

-Goodra can't breathe underwater, but they can hold their breaths for up to two hours

-To show happiness, Goodra will make a squealing noise similar to a hum

-Despite being cold blooded, Goodra don't fully freeze or go into a hibernation in the winter. They will however, become a lot slower and sleep more often

-Goodra that live in swamps eat leaves and grass, while Goodra that live in caves will lick the salt off of rocks, small stones, and sometimes decaying bodies. Their bodies can digest almost anything

-Goodra appeared in a popular children's cartoon known as Dragon Tales

-A lot of old Galarian artwork shows Goodra as a ferocious beast, but this wasn't even remotely the case. The depictions most likely came from the Galarians fear of Dragon Types

(Art by peron (niki2ki884) on Danbooru)

[toxiccrybabyart]

More screenshot edits

This time for pearls

So many pearls

One of which belongs to @pyro-caution

[sadhatter]

Obi (Akagami no Shirayukihime) x Reader

A/N: So this is my first fic back after 4 years hiatus. Please bear with me as I get into the rhythm again. xx

Also why are there no Obi fics on this site. I shall be the bringer of Obi Fics for all the Obi stans!!

Anime: Akagami no Shirayukihime | Snow White with the Red Hair

Pairing: Obi (Akagami no Shirayukihime) x Reader

Order: Pastry with Strawberry Jam

Warnings: Body Insecurity, smutty fluff

Blurb: Your a court herbalist, working alongside Shirayuki. Ever since Prince Zen appointed Obi to be Shirayuki's guard, you have been blessed with the opportunities of seeing this man on nearly a daily basis. Over time, you feel as there is something between the two of you but with your insecurities, you don't know if anything will ever become.

Word Count: 2460

(Y/N) POV

It was a tranquil week at the castle. Daily routines went smoothly. There were no unexpected visitors or last-minute contests—just peace.

"Hello, Pigeon." Well, that's what I thought anyway.

"Obi." No trace of amusement in my tone. While I did like having him around, he usually chose the worst times to be with me. "You could sound a little more pleased with my presence."

"And you could choose better times to grace me with your presence." I witted back to him as he climbed through the window to walk around the infirmary, looking and touching things like a kid. "Look, Obi, I have a lot I need to do today before Garak returns, so if you want to hang out later, I can, just not now."

I turned towards the desk, placing the pile of notebooks I had in my hands down. However, due to the sheer number, the top of the pile toppled forward, scattering the notebooks across the table and onto the floor on the other side, causing a slight sign to leave my throat.

"It looks like you could use some help," Obi said as he moved around the table and bent down to pick up what fell onto the ground while I cleaned up the scattered books.

"Obi, really—thank you—really, I'm okay." I interrupted my explanation as Obi stood back up and handed me the books that had fallen onto the ground. "Shouldn't you be with Shirayuki anyway?"

Shirayuki is the most recent addition to the Court Herbalists. She is very smart, very beautiful, and blessed with her beautiful bright red hair. She is also the reason Obi has been around the infirmary more often. Since Prince Zen appointed Obi to be Shirayuki's bodyguard in light of the rumors that were started, Obi and I have gotten to know each other better. But the looks he gives her are different from how he looks at me. I'm still trying to figure out how, but I know why. A common herbalist like me with no "assets" could never be with a "princess" bodyguard.

"She's with my master today. He thought after the past couple of weeks they had, they deserved a day away." That's right. It wasn't too long after they officially got together that more drama popped up, causing them to put a hold on their newfound romance.

"Hmm, okay then," I replied because I had started reading and filling out the different pharmaceutical documents. After the first document, I quickly fell into a rhythm of reading and filing. After reading and signing, I finally decided to look up from the desk, only for my eyes to meet with the man, who - apparently - still hadn't left. Our eyes connected (E/C) to gold, which almost seemed like time stopped. The slight swirls of green entwined with the gold made his eyes look like a beautiful flurry of gold flakes across a barren field. His eyes made mine feel like a swamp. I felt my cheeks rise with heat and my throat close with anxiety.

"How long have you been there?" I choked out through the slight opening and closing of my throat.

"I never left Pidge." Screw just my cheeks being red. Indeed, my whole face was red by now. I can guarantee there would be no difference if my face were buried in Shirayuki's hair.

"OKAY!" I said quickly and loudly while standing up, startling Obi and myself with my quick actions. "To the greenhouse," I Declared, kind of hoping Obi would see that I wanted to be alone.

"To the greenhouse," Obi said with a smile as he rose from his seat across the desk and started to follow me out the door.

"What?" I say with shock as I stop in my tracks suddenly, causing him to bump into my back.

"What?" He said with more confusion than anything. "Why are you going to the greenhouse?"

"Because you're going there?" he replied nonchalantly, staring confusedly at my shocked expression.

"You are allowed to be in here by yourself," I say, looking away from him while picking at the skin near my nails.

"I'm aware. Let's go." Fabric hit my face as my jacket fell into my arms. I looked up at the door to see Obi with a bright smile and his arm outstretched towards the sliding door. "It's chilly this time of year, so wear your jacket."

Maybe I wasn't delusional with my feelings. All this time, I thought he had feelings for Shirayuki. And while that may be true, a friend doesn't stay with someone for nearly an hour doing nothing while the other does paperwork. Right? Then again, Mitsuhide and Kiki are always just there when Prince Zen is doing paperwork. But Obi isn't my bodyguard. UGH. Far too many thoughts were running through my head because, before I knew it, we were at the entrance to the greenhouse.

I slide the greenhouse door open, waiting for Obi to enter before closing it behind him. "So, pidge, what are we doing here?"

"I just need to harvest a few different herbs before they aren't viable," I told him, moving towards the different types of herbs and picking out what I needed. "Obi, you don't have to be here. This is a pretty tedious task for someone who-"

"Sounds like you don't want me here, pidge."

"Please stop calling me that."

"Why Pidge? Does it annoy you, pidge?" The more he said it, the more it got on my nerves. With the countless questions that run through my head about this man, this is probably the question that hits my gut in a way I didn't think it would. Why does he call me Pigeon? As far as I was concerned, they were beautiful, majestic birds that symbolized love and luck. And I am not attractive or majestic.

"Just please stop," I said quietly. I was changing the topic while moving through the large greenhouse.

"Why, though, you're my pigeon."

"ENOUGH, OBI," I snapped, causing both of us to be shocked.

"(Y/N).."

"Do you think I'm beautiful and majestic? Cause I'm not! In a world full of pigeons, I'm a seagull. So is this fun for you? Watching me squirm under your presence?" I screamed, even throwing myself into silence as shock and terror ran through my veins.

Why did I snap? Pigeon isn't even that bad of a name. But with these feelings and thoughts racing through my mind, what else was I expected to do? He's always there. Always with me. So why was I so angry?

"(Y/N), I'm s-"

"I'll do this later," I said before sprinting away from Obi, away from an argument, away from hurt, away from my problems.

"Am I stupid!" I half yelled half groaned as I held a glass of liquor in my hand and my feet up on the couch.

"Yeah, probably. Why would you yell at poor Obi for a name like that?" Garak told me, also in the same position as me but on the lounge across from myself.

"I DON'T KNOW!" I groaned into the pillow I threw onto my face. "I really like him, boss."

"I know."

"He makes me really happy, and he makes me laugh. I'm always amazed by the way he can jump through the trees. He truly is charming." I slurred slightly, feeling a little intoxicated. While I was really good at holding my liquor, the liquor that's in the boss's secret stash is a whole new breed of drink.

"Oh my lord (Y/N). Just tell him? What harm can it do?" Garak told him when she heard the bell ring, asking for someone's attendance.

"It can literally do all the harm in the world. I'm not pretty enough to be admired the way people admire pigeons," I groaned again as she scoffed at me and walked towards the door.

"(Y/N), you have someone here to see you," Garak told me as she walked back into the room properly and sat back on the couch, taking another large swig of her drink.

"You're in better shape than me."

"But this isn't a patient that requires my specialties." Confused by her proclamation, I got up and went to the door. Her specialties? She was the head herbalist; what wouldn't require her "Specialties?"

"Hey, pidge." Just answered my own question. "Can we please talk?" My face nearly exploded from the heat that rushed to my cheeks and ears. My mind running a thousand miles an hour, trying to find a way out of this information.

"Sorry, Obi, I have a lot of stuff here. I need to catch u-"

"NO, SHE DOESN'T, TAKE HER OBI!" I heard my boss yell. When I turned to give her a death glare, she was already staring at me in amusement. I turned back to Obi and saw the small, sad smile he dawned on his lips. Guilt immediately ran through my veins.

"Shall we go for a walk? It's a nice night?" He asked gently and quietly. I examined his posture, which seemed nervous compared to his usual carefree posture.

"Sure."

"Pidge, I-"

"Obi, why do you call me pigeon?" I asked nonchalantly. On the way outside, I concluded that if this conversation were to happen, it would be better to get it over and done with.

"(Y/N), why don't you think you're beautiful?"

The question caught me off guard. Very off guard. I completely forgot I told him I wasn't beautiful when I snapped. The question blared through my ears like a ringing alarm that wouldn't stop. My whole life has been about helping people and making them feel better. Many of these people are women and young girls, all with flawless skin, light freckles, and beautiful bodies. After every day of serving these women, I would go back to my room and cry. I can be wise and kind, but nothing will ever make me as beautiful as those women.

"Like I said, I'm a seagull in a world full of pigeons." I stared out across the castle gardens with no hint of joy coming from my lips or eyes. "When I look around and see women like Kiki and Shirayuki, I find it very hard to see the natural beauty in myself. Their vibrancies are blinding, and the shine makes it hard to see my reflection."

The words spilled from my lips like they had been there for years, waiting to be released. It felt relieving to tell someone these grievances, but then I was reminded that I was spilling this thought to the man I love. The ball is in his court, and I hate that his next move dictates my own. I am utterly in his hands, and he's fully aware of it.

"(Y/N), I'm not meant to tell anyone this, but when I first came here, it was to keep Shirayuki and my master apart. I've done terrible things to people, unforgivable things." He grabbed my hand and stopped me in my tracks; as the words flowed from his lips, the clarity slowly washed over me. "I'm saying that not all of us are perfect b-"

"You are perfect to me, Obi." I quickly interrupted him, and then the point of his words hit me.

"You perfect to me, pidge. Your eyes, your hair, your skin, your body. It's all perfect to me." His hand slowly reached my cheek, his thumb grazing the skin slightly. "So who cares if the other girls have more vibrant hair or clearer skin. Because to me, you're my pigeon, beautiful and majestic."

That's all it took. The words aren't complex, but they carry profound meaning. Obi's words and meaning were as beautiful as his golden eyes. I grabbed his cheeks, pulling him towards me and smashing my lips onto his. Desperate and needing, but lustful and clarifying. His hands grabbed onto either side of my hips and slowly pushed me against a pillar that was nearby. His hands moved up my body to my neck as mine wrapped into his hair, slowly pulling on his short, brown strands.

One of his hands grazed over the front of my throat and gripped it slightly, not enough to cut off air, but enough to show me that I belonged to him. The motion made me gasp slightly, causing him to pull away.

"Is that okay?" He asked, concern laced in his voice.

"Shut up." I quickly pulled him back towards me, pushing my body further into him than I thought humanly possible. Our lips connected like they were made for each other.

I felt his tongue push slightly on my lips. Mine parting to allow access, our tongues and lips moving together like an in-sync dance. Arms and hands sliding over each other's bodies as if this were the last time we would feel each other. The desperation was clear as day. We had both been waiting far too long for this.

"Ahem." I heard a cough, quickly forcing Obi and me apart quicker than when I moved us together. We quickly turn our bodies to see Prince Zen and Shirayuki, hand in hand, returning from their day out.

"MASTER! Did you have a good trip?" Obi asked like nothing had happened, slowly strolling up to the Prince and throwing his arm around his shoulders. "I hope you guys used protection."

"I think I should be asking you guys that." The Prince responded while shoving Obi off his body. From what Obi told me, it must've been hard for the Prince to trust him with Shirayuki again. Solidifying my feelings for the man, he proved his loyalty to the Prince and earned his title as an aide to the crown.

The Prince pulled on Shirayuki's hand, leading them both past Obi and me. Shirayuki and I laid eyes on each other, and I caught a smile from the redhead. I'll be getting a bit of an interrogation tomorrow. My eyes moved back towards Obi. I saw him slowly returning to me while keeping his eyes on his master and the one he was in charge of protecting as they moved into the castle.

"For future reference,"

Obi and I both jumped, turning around and seeing Kiki and Mitsuhide at the other end of the outdoor corridor. Mitsuhide tried to hide his laughter, and Kiki stood blank-faced with arms crossed.

"Maybe find a room next time." Kiki finished as she dragged a laughing Mitsuhide passed up into the castle behind The Prince and Shirayuki.

"I think I might make do with that advice," Obi said. Before I could ask what he meant, I felt myself thrown over his shoulder.

"OBI!"

"C'mon pigeon, we have some catching up to do."

[landboundstar-writing]

Of Ghoulies And Ghosties Part 5

Repost from main blog and AO3 - with typo correction on Swamp Thing's name! Sorry, I miss things in editing. Reblog, please. And tip if you can. Also minors - be elsewhere. This fic is not for you General TW for this fic: Language, sexual content, and violence

Magic normally requires preparation, time, and energy.

That explains half the random shite I carry around with me.

I love when I don't have to do anything to get ready for a ritual.

It is rare. And I can barely manage in my own flat.

But Gotham had a ready made space, perfect to summon who I needed.

The little wildflower reclamation project looked pristine and untouched even when the concrete barriers and basketball courts yards away were covered in detritus and drug paraphernalia.

I was happy to see that met with the Jolly Green Giant's approval.

Okay, he looked more like a leafy cross between the Jolly Green Giant and something from the Black Lagoon, but even I don't look my best when I get unannounced company.

"John." He nodded in acknowledgment.

I nodded back. "Alec." I used his name, rather than his moniker or title. And people claim I have no manners?

The fact it let me speak to the spark of humanity inside of my eldritch friend was just a nice bonus.

He looked around. "Why the nice place, John?"

"Pardon?"

*Normally, you are using a potted plant. Today, a fully reclaimed wild space? John, you are a good friend. I appreciate what you have done for Abby and me in the past. But, I am not - how do you put it? Down to -"

Do a fertility rite for an eldritch swamp being just once and they never let you forget it.

"That's not what I need. It's about the job I am working. Why I am in Gotham borrowing one of Ivy's pet projects."

"Ah." Alec nodded sagely. "That explains why the plants are so nice and clean. So this isn't a hookup?"

"Maybe another time, but I'm currently on the clock. My current client is having me trying to help with a Gotham based problem. So, I was looking into all the extra magic in Gotham, like where it is coming from. It isn't the magic that is native to Gotham. Or the swamp. I checked."

Alec shook his head. "I cannot help you follow it, since it is of the red and the gray not the green."

"But, if you are guarding Slaughter Swamp and the magic reaches there, you could trace the threat. Since you speak for the trees, right?"

"That is a bit of a stretch, since I don't think it is targeting trees. But Slaughter Swamp can be problematic and does not need to have any more magical complications. And as a fellow Justice League member, I should tell you if there is a problem outside of the realm of the green that needs your assistance." He nodded. "I can work with this. I will help you."

"Thanks."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Well, they hired an investigator. So I will be investigating. I'm afraid this is turning into the trope and I'm going to have to cher chez le femme."

"And Batman is okay with this?"

I smiled, and I knew it wasn't a nice smile.

"Who said I was the only detective who would have to cher chez le femme?"

[unknown-writez]

The Traveler and The Jester

Chapter Three: The Summer Court

Part one

Only ever stopping at clear streams for water breaks. We spent the time sharing stories and laughing at jokes. mine full of family, secret Rendezvous on rooftops overlooking the city and his being stupid ideas full of mischief, pranks and friends. all of it making the time pass swiftly unnoticed. with the sky still full of stars and warm summer weather there was no indication of what time or day it was. It could have been minutes, hours or days and I wouldn’t know but with each story I found myself growing fonder of robin. our connection evolving into something I couldn’t quite place. It felt like I had known him my whole life despite the reality of the situation. abruptly puck went silent in the middle of a story about fighting a big frog like monster who resided in a muddy swamp and stopped walking holding his arm out to halt me in the process. a look of caution flashed on his face and his ears perked up as if straining to hear something. he then walked up to a nearby bush ahead of us crouching down and pushing it aside he looked through it then beckoned me to come over with his finger to his lip making a shh motion. walking over I kneeled next to him and peered out at what puck was looking at. In a wide field in front of us stood a group of 5 intimidating elvish looking men covered head to toe in green and gold metal armor holding large swords and daggers at their side riding on top of giant horses. “It's a hunt.” puck whispered “we must be closer to the court then I thought. stay here.” he finished picking up a stick next to him he then pushed past the bush going into the field with a big smile on his face the men on the horses noticing him right away. “Hello boys!” puck said, giving them a wave. as he approached them one of the men dismounted from his horse hand on sword ready to attack “come on!” puck started talking in a playful yet taunting manner “there’s no need for that! I don’t mean to cause any harm!” “We know who you are, goodfellow. Do not try anything.” the guard spoke back with authority “my reputation precedes me.” puck replied with his hands up in an innocent manner “I was just admiring your armor.” puck moved forward tapping his chest plate as he started to circle the man. “Besides, what are you guys doing out here anyway?” puck questioned the man who just stood still, his eyes trained on puck. The soldier following robins every move as if trying to anticipate and strategize what he would do next. “Oberon sent us out here on a mission. we’re on official court business.” the man answered in a deep voice “oh really! Did daddy buy you your new armor too?” puck taunted as he unbuckled his dagger Sheath from around the man's waist grabbing it quickly before the man could react. He swiftly put it behind his back, not stopping his circling. I watched as the dagger disappeared and reappeared in his hand before he brought it forward, opening it in front of the guy, the silver blade catching the light as it shone “I mean wow this thing must've cost a fortune.” Puck said laughing as he mocked the guy. quickly the man reached towards puck , snatching it out of his hands. With the man growing increasingly irritated, puck said “okay. Okay. I see you're not in the mood to play. I’ll just be off! see ya big man!” he taunted one last time before retreating back into the woods where I waited with a confused look on my face. “Why are you picking a fight with people we can’t afford to get mad?” I asked “because I needed this.” puck answered as he held out his hand “surprise!” with a poof of glitter the man’s dagger appeared once again. “for you in case you need it. even though nothing is going to happen to you on my watch. I'm going to protect you. no matter what.” puck said looking into my eyes a fire shining in his. “do you know how to use it?” puck asked as I took the leather sheath in my hands and buckled it around my waist. The golden handle decorated with vines on it now shining at my hip. “stick them with the pointy end.” I replied and puck laughed saying “that’s the gist of it!”

[theoakandthemistletoe]

Preparation

A servant scurried past Morris and produced, from some mysterious area of their person, a metal box, which the Marquis inspected down the length of their nose. Silver filigree laced the edges, hiding a lock, into which the Marquis slid a thin key and revealed several rows of rings. Morris leaned forwards slightly as they caught the glitter of the candles, then stuffed his hands into his pockets when he noticed the Marquis watching him.

'You really are cursed to put your hands on everything, aren't you?' they said, lifting the box out of reach. As they snapped it closed, Morris caught a flash of the insignia on the chosen ring. A tiny, skeletal hand, etched into the gold band, held an even tinier ruby in its fingers, an approximation of the Skullduggan crest. The ruby matched the pommel of the sword currently resting on the table, and the wine in the bottle beside it.

With a dismissive wave of the hand, which sent the servant scampering from the room, the Marquis examined their reflection. The most prominent feature was a look of disgust. Silks, finery, and other fripperies of the nobility were not usually a part of their wardrobe, the Marquis feeling more at home in a suit of armour or bloodied travelling clothes, and they fidgeted inside the green and yellow doublet, despite how carefully tailored it was. They had already turned down a ruff. In fact they had threatened to strangle the servant with it, and as a threat from a Skullduggan was never an empty one, that servant had almost sprinted for the safety of the hallway.

Morris stood and waited for an explanation. He wasn't sure why he had been summoned to the personal dressing chambers of the Marquis Skullduggan. Some people would probably pay good money to spy on them, although in this instance they would have been disappointed. It seemed that the Marquis had at least three rooms to dress in, not counting their bedroom, and even Morris, who had witnessed them scrubbing blood from their naked body in a stream while singing a cheery song about bread, was only permitted to enter this final one, where the Marquis added finishing touches like the ring and their ceremonial sword.

Regardless of the purpose, he could wait. In such lavish surroundings it wasn't much of a chore, and there was a bowl of fruit on the table beside the wine and two ornately carved glasses. Presumably these were kept in case the act of donning jewellery became too exhausting to bear without sustenance. So far Morris had eaten a handful of grapes and taken a bite from an apple unnoticed. The apple disappeared into his rags as the Marquis turned and reached for their sword. They strung the baldric across their chest and held the straps towards Morris.

'Buckle this for me.'

It was not a request. People in the Marquis's world did as they were instructed or faced the consequences. Morris toyed briefly with the idea of ignoring them, but after a moment he sighed, stepped forwards, and fumbled with the buckles.

'Why're you going to so much effort?' he asked, as he tugged the strap through. The Marquis biffed a hand against his shoulder, which, after bristling with annoyance, Morris forced himself to consider a compliment. Normally they aimed for the head.

'What? Don't be swamp-brained. This is a coronation. I'm the Marquis of Scrantz. If I want to keep our place in the Royal Court I have to at least show up.'

'You said they all think House Skullduggan is full of rebels. Why would they care if you weren't there?'

'Well, you know. We're rebels in an... officially sanctioned sort of way.' The Marquis rubbed their temples, leaving a red mark where the ring dug into their skin. 'Look. If you want to change things, you need power, yeah?'

'And gold.'

'Who are you, the Duke of Dwylionn? All right, all right, and gold. But to get both, you need to have connections. You need to be seen. You need to work with other people, and yes, I know, not my family's strong suit, but we try.'

'Really?'

'Yes! Why do people find that so hard to believe? If we didn't, the other families would all join ranks and try to throw us out of the Court.'

Morris gave the baldric a final pull and stepped back.

'You'd enjoy that.'

'Fair enough, we probably would.' The Marquis wiggled the belt into a more comfortable position. 'But we might regret it afterwards.'

'Hard to regret things if you're dead.'

'Are you saying we'd lose?' They snorted. 'No, we'd regret it because life would be boring without the other Houses to fight. See, this kind of forward-thinking is why they send me and not one of the twins.'

They turned their back on Morris and reached for the bottle of wine, as well as the glasses. That was something the Skullduggans had to be given credit for. Although they would fight anyone over anything, when it came to their wine, there was always a second glass on hand to offer a guest, whether out of generosity or, as Morris suspected, mischief. Many an unsuspecting traveller in Scrantz had been caught off-guard by House Skullduggan's regional wine and woken up, some days later, with considerably fewer clothes, valuables, and other possessions than they started with, and only a thumping headache in exchange. Morris shook his head when the Marquis held the glass towards him and absently pulled the apple out of his pocket instead. The Marquis didn't notice. They poured half a glass for themself, drained it in a breath, and set it down with a clink.

'Right. Onward.'

They were halfway through the door before they realised Morris wasn't following. He stood in the centre of the room, holding his apple, not taking another bite.

'What do you want me to do?'

'Stop holding us up, for a start. Come on.'

'You want me to go to the coronation?'

'Sure, why not? We spend so much time running errands for fairy queens or whatever, it's time you saw a real monarch.' They glanced him up and down, tapping their fingers against their sword. 'From the crowd, of course. I don't want everyone else to know I associate with--'

'Normal people.'

'You live in a sewer. You are not normal. I'll get you through the door, then you can go and stand at the back somewhere, with the servants. Just don't turn into a rat, yeah? Come on.'

People in the Marquis's world did as they were instructed or faced the consequences. This was no exception, either. Before Morris could attempt to reconcile the image of himself, from greasy hair to grey rags, with the interior of the Royal Court, the Marquis had locked their arm into his and dragged him from the room.

[landboundstar]

From Ghoulies And Ghosties Part 5

Been awhile, but have been working on this and some other works in progress as well as life and tending to the plot bunnies.

Magic normally requires preparation, time, and energy.

That explains half the random shite I carry around with me.

I love when I don't have to do anything to get ready for a ritual.

It is rare. And I can barely manage in my own flat.

But Gotham had a ready made space, perfect to summon who I needed.

The little wildflower reclamation project looked pristine and untouched even when the concrete barriers and basketball courts yards away were covered in detritus and drug paraphernalia.

I was happy to see that met with the Jolly Green Giant's approval.

Okay, he looked more like a leafy cross between the Jolly Green Giant and something from the Black Lagoon, but even I don't look my best when I get unannounced company.

"John." He nodded in acknowledgment.

I nodded back. "Alan." I used his name, rather than his moniker or title. And people claim I have no manners?

The fact it let me speak to the spark of humanity inside of my eldritch friend was just a nice bonus.

He looked around. "Why the nice place, John?"

"Pardon?"

*Normally, you are using a potted plant. Today, a fully reclaimed wild space? John, you are a good friend. I appreciate what you have done for Abby and me in the past. But, I am not - how do you put it? Down to -"

Do a fertility rite for an eldritch swamp being just once and they never let you forget it.

"That's not what I need. It's about the job I am working. Why I am in Gotham borrowing one of Ivy's pet projects."

"Ah." Alan nodded sagely. "That explains why the plants are so nice and clean. So this isn't a hookup?"

"Maybe another time, but I'm currently on the clock. My current client is having me trying to help with a Gotham based problem. So, I was looking into all the extra magic in Gotham, like where it is coming from. It isn't the magic that is native to Gotham. Or the swamp. I checked."

Alan shook his head. "I cannot help you follow it, since it is of the red and the gray not the green."

"But, if you are guarding Slaughter Swamp and the magic reaches there, you could trace the threat. Since you speak for the trees, right?"

"That is a bit of a stretch, since I don't think it is targeting trees. But Slaughter Swamp can be problematic and does not need to have any more magical complications. And as a fellow Justice League member, I should tell you if there is a problem outside of the realm of the green that needs your assistance." He nodded. "I can work with this. I will help you."

"Thanks."

"And what will you be doing?"

"Well, they hired an investigator. So I will be investigating. I'm afraid this is turning into the trope and I'm going to have to cher chez le femme."

"And Batman is okay with this?"

I smiled, and I knew it wasn't a nice smile.

"Who said I was the only detective who would have to cher chez le femme?"

[exuberantocean]

Abandoned Fic Thursday! It's not a think but I'm making it. I've got an 11 page Mash post-war Hawkeye/BJ (or maybe Hawkeye/BJ/Peg? I don't think I ever decided) where BJ courts Hawkeye through long distance psychological warfare via stolen socks.

“Two socks?”  

Hawkeye blearily eyed the clothes on his bed for a moment.  Nearly 36 hours of travel, god knows how many time zones, then a welcome home party...it was all catching up to him awfully quick.  But he was pretty sure he could still count.  “Where did all my socks go?”

He was sure he packed all his socks, seven pairs in wildly varying condition, before they took down the swamp.  So fourteen socks in the swamp, fourteen socks into the army issue duffle bag, there should be fourteen socks now on his bed here in Crabapple Cove.  But there were only a lousy two.

“Is something wrong?” His dad asked.  Hawkeye could hear the door creak open as his dad stepped into the room.

“I didn’t just lose my marbles in Korea, I’ve lost my socks too!”

Hawkeye turned to see his dad frown, more likely because of his continued flippant references to his declined mental health than the missing socks.  

“You still have all the socks you had from before the war,” as if to prove the point his dad opened the top dresser drawer.  All his old socks still lay there, right where he left them over three years before, totally untouched by the passage of time. Unlike him.

“That’s not the point.  I packed seven pairs of socks when I left Korea. There should be seven pairs of socks in my duffle bag.”  Hawkeye picked up the remaining two socks.  They were clearly the worst of the lot, darned so many times they weren’t really worth a darn anymore.  One was stretched out, clearly “borrowed” by BJ one too many times.

BJ...

No, he wouldn’t have...would he?

The phone rang and his dad ran off to get it while Hawkeye tried to decide what to do with the rest of his clothes from Korea.  Put them in the dresser?  Pack them away the attic?  Burn them?  Somehow he wanted to do all three at once.

“Ben?  BJ Hunnicutt is on the line!” His father called up the stairs.

Hawkeye’s eyes narrowed in on the two socks again.  “That fink!”

“You fink!” Hawkeye exclaimed moments later when his father handed him the phone.

“Hello to you, too stranger!” BJ said cheerfully.  Too cheerfully.

“You took my socks!”

“Now Hawkeye, why would I ever take your socks when I have seven pairs of olive green Army issue socks that I never intend to wear again of my own?”

“Why did you ever take my socks?” Hawkeye slumped on the couch as his father wandered out of the room and off into the kitchen to give them some privacy.

“Well don’t you have other socks?”

“That’s not the point.  The point is that they’re my socks and you took them!”

“Now I never said I took them.  Did you try calling Charles?” asked BJ.

“Why would I call Charles?  Charles didn’t take my socks.”

“Are you sure, did you ask?”

“Why would Charles take my socks?” Hawkeye asked through a yawn.

“Why would I take your socks?”

“I don’t know; why were you always stealing my socks anyway?” Hawk asked, exasperated. 

“Now, I wasn’t stealing your socks.  It’s just that your socks looked a lot like my socks so they got mixed up.  An innocent mistake.”

“My socks had my name on them while your socks had your name on them and my socks were in my footlocker while your socks were in your footlocker so I cannot see how they-” Hawkeye yawned again. “I can’t see how you could have been mistaken when you took my socks.  It was premeditated sock thievery and you know it BJ Hunnicutt!”

“Hold on a minute.” BJ said.

“Sure, BJ.” Hawkeye said, finding to his surprise that he was smiling despite the bickering.

There were muffled voices on the other end of the line a moment.  He could hear BJ talking to a toddler over the line and Hawkeye’s smile melted. BJ was home.  With a family all his own.  He didn’t need him anymore. He found himself clenching one of the throw pillows so tight his knuckles were turning white.  God, he was a mess.  They said goodbye, so now he needed to let BJ go.  Hell, why was he calling?  He had bibs and strollers and baby shoes.  He had a blonde wife with a warm smile keeping a perfect little house. A picket fence along a seaside property.  BJ didn’t need him.  He had nothing left to give anyway. And BJ was certainly never going to give Hawk what he really wanted.  He just needed to rip off the bandaid.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have called,” Hawkeye said when he heard Erin leave.

“What, why?”

“You’re home now BJ.  You’ve got a family of your own.  You don’t need me.”

“What, like I can’t have friends, I can’t have a best friend along with my family?” BJ asked.  He’d been happy and teasing but now his voice was laced with anger.  Maybe that was for the better.  Hawkeye dug the knife in further.

“Trapper never left a note, never wrote, never called, if you were half the husband and father he was, you’ll do the same.” Hawkeye slammed the phone down.

“What was that about?” Daniel asked, coming back into the room.

“Nothing, the past.” Hawkeye said.  “Time to move on.”

If he only had the slightest clue how.

*There's more, but I mean, it's 11 pages long and that's a lot to post.

[the-blackbird-roleplays]

John Bienville, Crescent City's Homme-Araignée

"Well crap, I guess it's my turn huh? Alright, let's run this back one more time, but how about a l’agniappe for your troubles of coming this far?"

The young man smiled as he stood on the edge of a skyscraper in Crescent City, slowly removing his mask to reveal a tan-skinned young man around 20 years old, green eyes, and the killer smile of a southern gentleman.

"My name is John Bienville, but my friends call me Jack. I was bitten by a cursed spider, and for the past five years I've been Crescent City's one and only Homme-Araignée. That's Spider-Man for the non-Francophone out there." He grinned, yanking his mask back down as he leapt from the building, backflipping as he did before tapping his wrist-mounted web-shooter, firing out a line of webbing with a soft thwip.

"Yeah yeah, we all know the story. Young hero with a heart of gold, tragedy ensues, power and responsibility, all that merde. But mine's a bit different from the rest." He grunted as he landed on the highest building in the city, smiling over the place he called home.

"Being raised in the bayou gives someone a unique perspective on things. It's a little wilder out there than people are used to. Most people had pet dogs growing up... I had a pet alligator. Most kids grew up with their mom and dad... mine died in a riverboat accident when I was four and I was raised from then on by my aunt 'n' nonc who could charitably be called Swamp People... but don't tell Auntie Anna that or you'll get a face full of buckshot."

He chuckled softly, leaning against the skyscraper's spire as he pulled his mask completely off, revealing a head of bushy blond hair.

"Growing up with them, I learned how a man should act, and how a gentleman should act. You gotta fight for you and yours, protect the ones who can't protect themselves, and have fun doing it... what I didn't know is Uncle Benji... He'd run afoul of some bad people. Bad people who pretended to be protecting everyone, hiding their corruption behind a badge and an ATF jacket. One day, when they realized they couldn't profit off him and his still anymore, they showed up, rigged his still, and waited for the fireball."

John sighed softly, closing his eyes as he thumped his head against the metal spire of the tower.

"I used every legal avenue I had to try and get those crooked feds to the courts. I was blocked at every turn like a dam for a salmon. So... I turned to the only source I had left. An old witch that lived deep in the bayou. She said she'd help, but I'd have to pay a cost, keep doing what I was about to do for the greater good. She said something about 'Spider-Totems' and other universes that I didn't exactly understand at the time. I just wanted justice done and done right. I agreed, she summoned a black spider, and next thing I know I was tearing up a deal between some corrupt ATF agents and some smugglers attempting to bring in guns through the Port of New Orleans. I also may or may not have left them tied up with a few wildlife camera shots of them messing with my uncle's still. Best Sunday of my life up until that point."

He smiled softly, jumping forward off the building as he backflipped through the air, swinging along as he snatched a beignet from a store window, leaving a five-dollar bill behind on the plate, munching away as he went from web-line to web-line.

"Been doing this Spider-gig ever since. My methods are a little unorthodox, playing around the lines as much as in, but there's one thing I hold absolute. 'If ya got might, ya gotta make right'. Uncle Benji taught me that. Now, I protect the ones who can't protect themselves."

He grinned, standing upside-down on a bridge spanning the Mississippi River as he scarfed down the last few bites of the beignet.

"My name's John Bienville. I'm Spider-Man. And If you abuse the might you got, I'm coming to make things right."

XxXxX

Name: John "Jack" Bienville

Age: 22

Occupation: Spider-Man, Mixologist, Chef

Home Earth: Earth-504 (Personal Creation, lore MAY be added later)